


From The Ashes

by violasarecool



Series: What Can 8 Grey Wardens Do? [12]
Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Flashbacks, Gen, Temple of Sacred Ashes, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-27
Updated: 2017-06-27
Packaged: 2018-11-19 19:12:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11319828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/violasarecool/pseuds/violasarecool
Summary: the temple of sacred ashes is a bit of a harrowing experience. quentin doesn't deal well with the memories it confronts him with.





	From The Ashes

"I am very glad that is over," Zevran said, as they walked back through the Temple of Sacred Ashes, retracing their steps through its vast halls back to where they began. "So many puzzles!" Zevran added, his voice echoing in the wide space, "I thought I would die of boredom."

His comments, however, were met only with the echoes of his own voice, and Zevran turned his attention to the elf walking silently beside him. "Are you alright?"

Quentin nodded. "Fine."

Zevran gave him a sweeping glance. "You're shaking." He looked ahead; the others had already walked on down the hall, their voices echoing off the stone walls. "Shall I—"

"No," Quentin said, but he stopped walking to lean against the wall, breathing heavily.

"We can stop," Zevran said, frowning.

"No, just—" Quentin pressed a hand over his mouth. "Let's get out of here."

Zevran nodded. They made their way out, Quentin walking heavily, his face pale. Leliana and Alistair were waiting for them outside. "There you are," Alistair said, "we were going to go back for you if you didn't come back soon."

Quentin unshouldered his staff, gripping it as he slid to the ground just outside the entrance, back against the wall, his heart thudding frantically. Leliana came back toward the temple, stopped in front of him. "Are you alright? You are very pale."

Quentin nodded, and Zevran gave a small exasperated sigh, crouching next to him. "You were staggering like a drunken dwarf the entire way back," he said quietly. "Are you injured?" Quentin shook his head. Zevran raised an eyebrow. "It is foolish to hide it if you are."

"M'not." He raised a hand halfway to his face, then lowered it; Zevran took it between his own hands. Quentin rested his head on his knees, eyes closed against the static noise in his head, images of cold stone walls and ghostly apparitions.

_There was a figure standing down the corridor, dull green apprentice robes. "Jowan?"_

_He turned. "Hey."_

_"It's not really you, is it?"_

_"Isn't it?" Jowan shot him a mischievous smile. "No, really, though, I have no idea. Maybe we're in the fade. Does it matter?"_

_Quentin stared at him uncertainly. "I don't know." He glanced behind him at the others; Zevran looked unimpressed, while Alistair only shrugged._

_"Quentin." He looked back at Jowan. "I just wanted to wish you luck, with the whole Grey Warden thing. You're going to do a lot of good, more than I could ever have done."_

_Quentin swallowed. "You're not... angry?"_

_"For what?" Jowan said. "I chose my own path."_

_"I just wish I could have helped you," Quentin murmured._

_Jowan shook his head. "You did all you could, and I appreciate that. But you're not to blame for what happened." He dug into his pocket, pulled out a silver chain, a locket that glowed faintly with magic. "Here, take this," he said, "you can probably make good use of it."_

_Quentin held out his hand instinctively. "Is it..."_

_"Real?" He let it slip from his hand into Quentin's, and laughed as Quentin flinched at the touch of cold metal. "Real as you or me."_

"...might be having a..."

"Has he ever..."

"...not that I..."

"Shh."

The wind whistled through cracks in the stone, shrill bursts that caught on the sharp edges of Quentin's scattered thoughts. He shivered, suddenly feeling the chill of the mountain air, pulled his arms around himself. Someone laid a hand on Quentin's arm, and his head jerked up to see Alistair's face, tight with concern.

"Maker, you're freezing," Alistair said. 

"A b-bit," Quentin said, forcing the words out of numb lips. Alistair's hand was warm like a conjured flame, almost scalding on his skin.

"Can you walk?" Zevran asked, and Quentin nodded, let himself be pulled to his feet. As they began the long descent back to the village, neither Zevran nor Alistair let go, supporting him in an awkward chain of bodies. At one point, Zevran almost tripped over a chunk of rock protruding from the ground, though he quickly caught himself, muttering a half-hearted complaint about the unstable path.

"It is not really an ideal path for the final part of a pilgrimage, is it?" Leliana said wryly. "I have seen smuggling routes better maintained."

"Well, look on the bright side," Alistair said, "at least there's no giant dragon."

At that, Quentin began to giggle.


End file.
